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<title>you're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now? by lomldrake</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364205">you're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lomldrake/pseuds/lomldrake'>lomldrake</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twitter Drabbles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Addict Tim Drake, Addiction, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Character Death, Character Study, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Incest, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, M/M, Mommy Issues, Mommy Kink, Non-Graphic Smut, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, as in he lets his adopted son hump his lap when said son is 14, it's jason so, listen i don't know, other characters only get metioned, sex as a coping mechanism, well yk, you are warned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:40:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lomldrake/pseuds/lomldrake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason was cold. Not as cold as he had been years ago, ten feet under the ground in a wooden cascet with no air in his lungs. But just as cold as he had been even more years ago when he had woken up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to see his mom passed out drunk on the kitchen floor or when he'd get home from school and his mom was on so sofa, white residence of the lines she had done still on the table, or the times he'd come home from the playground and his dad would yell and scream at him, at his mom, at nothing, for hours. He was cold.</p><p>-</p><p>An attempt at a Character Study on Jason's Trauma.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd/Many People, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twitter Drabbles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>someone requested "jason/misery"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jason was cold. Not as cold as he had been years ago, ten feet under the ground in a wooden cascet with no air in his lungs. But just as cold as he had been even more years ago when he had woken up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to see his mom passed out drunk on the kitchen floor or when he'd get home from school and his mom was on so sofa, white residence of the lines she had done still on the table, or the times he'd come home from the playground and his dad would yell and scream at him, at his mom, at nothing, for hours. He was cold.</p><p>He had thought he was over the thing with his dad, he had thought he had moved past the missing father figure his childhood had given him. But deep down he knew he wasn't. He knew it was ever present even when he tried so desperately to ignore it.</p><p>It had been present when he was thirteen and Bruce had taken him in and he had been young and dumb and hopeful that things would get better and suddenly every time when late at night he would touch himself he would think of Bruce. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's biggest playboy, Beachlor of the century. </p><p>He would think of how Bruce's hand was so much bigger on his shoulder, how Bruce was so much taller than him, how he would always sit so close to him during movie nights.</p><p>And it was good. It was nice, at least it got the job done well enough. </p><p>And then there had been the time he rarely dared to think about, when he had been fourteen and he had gotten drunk on the wine that Alfred had put in the kitchen for Dinner and Bruce had found him there, on the kitchen floor and for a moment it had reminded Jason of how he had always found his mom like this but he had been too wasted to think about that.</p><p>Bruce had picked him up, gathered him in his arms and carried him to the living room, sat him down next to him and their eyes had met.</p><p>Jason remembers calling him dad. It's the clearest memory he has, both of Bruce and of that night. It was the first time he had called Bruce that and it had hung so heavy in the air that Jason had sworn to himself he would never say that word ever again. Not to Bruce, not to anyone.</p><p>What had happened after that was something Jason was both proud and ashamed of. He had climbed into Bruce's lap, had wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck, just like he had seen Catwoman and Talia and Vicky Vale and all those other stuck up rich girls Bruce brought back did. </p><p>Except he had expected to be pushed off, to be thrown off, to be told he was crossing a line. But Bruce had let him. Had set his arms on Jason's hips and held him there. He had asked what he had needed and Jason had almost started crying but all he did was start grinding down against Bruce, his dick hardening in his pants and he could feel Bruce slowly getting errect as well.</p><p>It was a memory that left a sour taste in Jason's mouth. </p><p>But while it was the only time it happened with Bruce, it wasn't the only time it happened at all.</p><p>There had been this friend of Bruce's, tall, blonde, a well kept beard, he would always be wearing polo shirts and jeans that Jason assumed were more expensive than his life.</p><p>He also always brought Jason cookies, told him his wife had made them and he called Jason "kiddo" and asked about how school was going and when Jason would ramble on and on about his literature classes he would smile and nod instead of telling him to grow up and move on.</p><p>And for a few weeks when Jason was alone late at night Bruce wasn't on his mind, Bruce's friend was. Because Bruce's friend cared, he showed interest in him, he asked about his day and actually listened to the answer. He had been everything his real dad hadn't been. Both his dad's so far hadn't been.</p><p>It had been at a charity gala in City Hall when Jason, barely fifteen, had found himself in the broom closet with said friend of Bruce, on his knees and listening so closely as he was instructed on how to suck a dick.</p><p>Bruce's friend stopped coming over after that night. Jason didn't know why. Didn't ask why. They all left. They always did.</p><p>And then he had died and come back and it had all started new. Except he was smarter now, older now. He didn't look for Bruce or Bruce's friends, he went to a bar in Crime Alley, knowing they didn't check ID, he wouldn't have one to show them even if he would have been off age. So he drank whiskey shots and found a guy that was at least twice his age and went home with him to an apartment a few blocks away. It had been nothing special, but it was clean and organized and Jason thought it would be a good enough place to get his dick sucked.</p><p>But just as he startes opening his pants someone had busted in through the window and in a quick shot right between the eyes the man who had just started getting on his knees fell dead in front of Jason, limb body hitting the floor. A clean swipe. </p><p>Jason’s eyes had went to the figure that had just busted into the room. A monochrome black suit and a black leather hood to cover his face. One of Black Mask’s men. Jason had sighed, for a second he had considered if this was once again his final moment as well. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had looked death in the eyes.</p><p>But only hours later he found himself tied up and gagged on a chair in the middle of a black and white room, the walls covered in foreign art. I looked expensive, though a little over the top if you asked Jason.</p><p>And then he had met Black Mask. For the first time after hearing about him so many times when he had been Robin, Black Mask was right there in front of him. </p><p>He remembers some insults, some back talk and some threats, he remembers Roman holding a gun to his temble and he remembers telling him to just finish the job.</p><p>He also rmeembers being in Roman’s bed not much later, still partly tied up and begging for more. He knew it wouldn’t matter what he did, he could beg for more, beg to stop, could scream Roman’s name or tell him to go to hell, Roman would keep going. </p><p>It was only when Jason came that a small whispered “daddy” left his lips. It was the first time Roman stopped throughout the endless minutes they had been going at it.</p><p>But Jason didn’t feel shame, not like he would have if this had happened when he had still been Robin, no, all he felt was a sense of pride in being able to startle Roman Sionis, the man himself.</p><p>And he found himself in that exact same bed time after time again. They weren’t dating, far from that, Jason hated that man’s guts, but something about the thrill of getting fucked by one of the most influential people in Gotham, something about calling the man who Bruce was constantly after “daddy”, something about that satisfied him more than anything.</p><p>He had only started noticing the pattern in the men he was going after when he started recognising the same pattern in the women he liked.</p><p>The first ever girl he had had a crush on had been Nancy Milliger, who was three years above him at school and constantly got suspsended. All Jason knew about her was that she threw a mean right hook and would probably beat him up if he ever as much as tried talking to her, but Jason was sold the second he arrived at Gotham High School when he was 15 and started Junior year and she was leaning against her motorbike smoking.</p><p>The first woman he ever had sex with however had been Talia Al Ghul, back when he had just been ressurected and he was still somewhere between feeling dead and alive and he knew he would have been too vulnerable to deny her anything. Then again he was convionced no man, no matter how vulnerable, would ever be able to deny Talia a single wish.</p><p>It had been surprisingly gentle, she had told him exactly what to do, been careful of the fact that he was hurt, that his body was still healing, she had kissed him slow and gentle. His first kiss. Well, his first actual kiss if he ignored being nine and on the playground.</p><p>And after that it had become a rapid pattern. At first he had thought the satisfcation he had felt after sleeping with Talia was because Talia was Bruce’s ex, because he know could hold this over Bruce every time he saw him. But it hadn’t been.</p><p>It had been that Talia was much older than him, that she was willing to hold him in her arms after and go slow and take care of him in a way his mother never had. </p><p>The second time something like that had happened was a year later when he felt lost and hopeless and the only contact in his phone that he felt like he could call had been none other than Diana Prince. Diana of Themyscira. Wonder Woman.</p><p>Not much later he had been sitting on her bed in her New York apartment and she had made him some tea and was telling him a story about her childhood, about the isle she grew up on, and he had listened and leaned his head on her shoulder and eventually he had kissed her.</p><p>She had let him.</p><p>It spiralled from there until he was on his knees in front of the bed, he hand in his hair and his mouth on her pussy. </p><p>It had been one of the best nights he could remember in a long time and if he at some point alled her “mommy” then neither of them needed to talk about it.</p><p>There had been many women and men after that, one night stands in shady bars, people he had picked up from the rare Wayen Charity Functions Alfred made him go to, a few heroes who would never want him to mention this to anyone. He didn’t mind, never did. He wasn’t looking for love.</p><p>He also knew this wouldn’t solve his problems forever, that one day he would need to face his past without Black Mask nine inches inside of him or Diana riding his face, but even thinking about it made his entire body shake.</p><p>Jason was cold. Not as cold as he had been years ago, ten feet under the ground in a wooden cascet with no air in his lungs. He remembers that cold in a weird way he can’t quite describe. He doesn’t actually remember being dead, he just remembers the emptiness and the cold.</p><p>The memories hurt. The memories of knowing he lost his teen years just like that, knowing he lost what most people woulkd consider their prime. God, he hoped it wasn’t his prime. He hoped he hadn’t spent his best years dead and under the ground. But he had seen Tim at that age, and he was currently seeing Damian at that age and he hoped for both of them it wasn’t their prime. </p><p>Even more he genuinly hoped it wasn’t his prime. All he knew about that time was that there had been four people who had regularly visited his grave at the Gotham cemetery. </p><p>Bruce Wayne. At least Jason assumed so. Dick had assured him Bruce had visited him at least once a month but Jason had never dared to ask Bruce about it. He didn’t want to know if it was all a lie to comfort him. Bruce who hadn’t even bothered to make sure that no one else would ever fall down the hole he id, that no one else would ever be hurt by the Joker the same way Jason had been.</p><p>Alfred Pennyworth. That one Jason knew for sure. Alfred had been the one figure Jason has had growing up that he knew he could actually rely on, that was there for him even now after everything that had happened. Alfred had shown him pictures of his grave as Jason had asked and he had known that the flowers and the Stones, the candles and the carefully kept arrangements had all been because of Alfred.</p><p>Dick Grayons. His brother. Fuck that. What a brother he was, had barely been there when Jason had been alive, had claimed to be there when Jason hadn’t been and wasn’t there now that he was back.</p><p>And finally Timothy Jackson Drake. The third Robin. His replacement.</p><p>Tim was everything Jason never could be. Bruce’s perfect sidekick. A great detective, intelegent like no one before him, always put work above his own life, always put Bruce and his godforsaken hero complex first. </p><p>But there had been something else about Tim that Jason had noticed whenever he had looked at him. There had been something in his eyes that Jason had never quite been able to place.</p><p>All until one day Jason had been sitting on a rooftop in Crime Alley, enjoying a quiet smoke when a little birdie had landed next to him. Jason hadn’t aknowledged him, never bothered to give the replacment more attention than necessary.</p><p>Tim had simply set there for a few minutes until he had dared to ask the question no one else had asked him yet. “Do you remember being dead?”</p><p>And Jason had just started laughing uncontrollably. He had then finally shook his head. </p><p>“I remember what the Joker did to me,” Tim had finally said and unprompted he had started talking. He didn’t sound sad, he wasn’t crying or shaking, he was simply telling a story. His voice and eyes seemed empty but he was telling a story nontheless. </p><p>A story of how he had spent endless nights strapped to the table in Joker’s hideout at the docks, a story of how he had prayed and prayed that Bruce would find him soon until he was broken enough to no longer remember Bruce at all. A story opf how he had been laughing until his throat hurt depsite not remembering what had been funny in the first place. A story of how he had cried so many tears until he didn’t even feel them anymore.</p><p>And when Jason and Tim’s eyes met Jason could finally place the thing he had never been able to place while looking at Tim. </p><p>Insanity.</p><p>Insanity like he had only seen once before, paired with a crowbar and a laugh that haunted Jason’s nightmares. Insanity that Jason knew Tim would never quite be able to shake off.</p><p>And for the first time Jason considered that maybe death had been a mercyful end.</p><p>Because he knew Joker hadn’t done this to get a miniture clown, he had done this thinking Jason wouldn’t come back and knowing Bruce had simply moved on, found a replacement, someone better, smarted, who wouldn’t run off at the smallest hope of finding his mom, Joker knew that killing Tim would just cause Bruce to find someone knew, sop he had broken Tim as a permenbant reminder that Bruce would always have to look at.</p><p>It wasn’t until several years later still that Jason and Tim became something like friends. Tim was the most willing out of all the bats to accept Jason back.</p><p>But there was something else about Tim that always got under Jason’s skin. </p><p>When Tim would crash at his place and in the morning he would drink cup after cup of coffee until his eyes started sparkling and his hands started shaking. When they were out and Tim was constantly putting more and more pieces of gum in his mouth, never not chweing. When they were watching movies on Tim’s sofa and Tim would suddenly jump up and run to the kitchen to chug a full bottle of coke.</p><p>They were signs of addiction like Jason had grown up with.</p><p>Almost a year of them being aqaintences, maybe friends even, had passed when Jason first came face to face with Tim’s alcoholism. Tim had been sick and Alfred had tasked him with bringing him chicken soup and when Jason had come to Tim’s apartment it had been covered in empty wine bottles. </p><p>It was a downwards slope from there and Jason felt sick just thinking about it.</p><p>The final straw however had been just the night before when Jason had finally taken Tim with him to one of the nights out he went on with Roy, Connor and Kyle and he had found Tim and Roy in the club’s bathroom, giggling, white lines on the sink.</p><p>“Jay,” Roy had greeted him, “You won’t believe it but your little birdie here might be even worse than me.”</p><p>Jason had thrown up then and there in the toilets and when he had looked back over them he had been greeted with Tim’s eyes, with the insenity of the crytsal blue that reinded him of that night in the warehouse, with the twitch in the smile the Joker had had combined with the expression his mom had always given them when she had done one line too many.</p><p>And it had all been too much. Tim, his replacement, the son he never could be for Bruce, Tim, who looked way too much like the Joker for Jason’s liking and Tim who was just as out of it as his mom.</p><p>Jason felt cold.</p>
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